


Heaving Through Corrupted Lungs

by mockanddee



Category: Glee
Genre: Canon Compliant, Episode Related, M/M, One Shot, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-24 08:07:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mockanddee/pseuds/mockanddee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of missing moment scenes set shortly before and during "The New Rachel."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heaving Through Corrupted Lungs

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song "Youth" by Daughter

Silence stretched the bed between them, turning the inches of white sheet into miles and miles. Blaine pressed his hand there. Pushing, pushing. The mattress compressed beneath, and he wasn’t sure what it was, if this thing that had invaded the space was something he should try to fight back or grasp tightly.

The bed was still damp with their mingled sweat.

Blaine watched as Kurt tilted his chin up, his head going further into the pillows as he studied the ceiling. The early morning sun was coming through the window, patterned over Kurt’s skin, and Blaine found his chest felt strange, like the breath wasn’t quite making it to his lungs, his mouth dry. He tried to swallow it away.

There were only a few minutes until Kurt needed to get up, shower and don his blue apron. It was hanging over the closet door. Kurt did everything in his power not to look at it.

Blaine knew because he did too.

He lifted his hand and the little valley made by the pressure of it disappeared, gone as if it had never been there.

It was mornings like this that made him wish he had tried harder to find some theme park work for the summer.

At least school started next week.

***

Kurt wiped the rag along the counter at the Lima Bean until the constellation of tiny espresso and milk spots was gone.

He needed to refill the biscotti barrel.

There was nothing there anymore, but he continued moving the rag back and forth. He ran the finger of his other hand along the edge of his name tag, solid plastic, sharp. He tried not to shudder when his finger hit the fabric of the apron.

In his head, he catalogued the minutes until his break. Minute one through three: restock the paper cups and cardboard sleeves.

Minutes four through eight: wipe down the front door with the glass cleaner.

Nine through twelve: wash his hands.

Thirteen through twenty-one: organize all the sugars and cinnamon and stirrers. Line them up. Wipe down the station.

Minutes twenty-two through twenty-five: take out the trash.

He hoped for no customers.

He didn’t think about New York. He didn’t want to think about buildings, or gray, gray sidewalk, the claustrophobic hum of so many people, and the shape of himself there, but not yet, not yet.

Or the gleaming floors of a dance studio.

He saved those thoughts up, wound tight together in his head. He would talk to Rachel, and allow them to unspool, one after the other until he was saturated with it, until he could measure his breaths as they pushed against the want. Then he would yank them back, thread them back into place. Locked away.

No, he didn’t think about floors.

He focused on the gleaming countertop instead.

***

Blaine couldn’t stop the whine he made, long and low, as Kurt put his mouth on Blaine’s cock, sucking at the skin. Not enough, not quite enough. Kurt’s mouth was wet and hot but soft, like he was content to just taste, exploring the pull and texture of Blaine with his lips and tongue.

Blaine threw his arms over his head and pushed against Kurt’s headboard, his back arching, and he tried to catch his breath as the vibrations of his body knocked it away from him.

He shouldn’t even be here.

School starts in the morning, his first day at McKinley without Kurt. He had to be up early. He shouldn’t be here stretched out naked on Kurt’s bed at midnight.

“Please, Kurt, please… _please_.”

Kurt finally, finally took Blaine fully into his mouth and Blaine moaned, broken and choking. He felt like he wanted to weep and he wanted to come and he wanted this to never stop, never end.

He felt the tears spill down his cheeks.

***

Now during his shifts at the Lima Bean, Kurt thought about glee club instead. He categorized sheet music in his head, assembled competition song orders, strategized on what kind of voices they should look for at the auditions on Friday.

He thought about the choir room.

He picked out ballads that would highlight Tina’s voice, pretty and neglected, and ones that would make her stretch, push. Test her limits so her mind would only see the notes and not anything else, not anyone else.

He imagined what musical they would do this year, if Artie would know who he wanted for each role before they even tried out or if he would let them surprise him. He made short lists of shows that had enough big parts in the appropriate vocal ranges, wondered if Sam would want to try for a lead. And about the numbers Brittany could choreograph, and the ways she could hide any of the weaker dancers.

He thought about all those empty chairs.

It took Kurt several days to realize he wasn’t able to think of Blaine there.

***

Blaine leaned back in Kurt’s bed, turning his face to side to brush his nose against the pillow, smelling the bit of Kurt it held. The smell of his hair, his sweat, and his breath. Blaine made a small noise, one filled with satisfaction. The high of the day had not quite worn off yet, and it was making him loose and relaxed.

He wondered why they were both still dressed.

Blaine looked at the lines of Kurt’s body where he stood at the closet, flicking through it as if he was searching for something, letting his gaze trail up Kurt’s long, long legs in those black trousers. The legs Blaine had made an effort not to see today at school.

Otherwise, he would’ve been holding his bag across his crotch as Artie proclaimed him the new Rachel.

He got up onto his knees and, kneeling there on the bed, slowly untucked his maroon polo shirt from his pants. Quietly, so Kurt wouldn’t notice and turn around.

“Did you see their faces, Kurt?” He pulled at his bowtie, and when it came free, set it on the bedside table.

“Yeah, love…wait, whose face?” Kurt said absently as he bent over to grab an article of clothing that had slid off its hanger and was pooled on the floor.

Blaine slipped his shirt off and tried not to groan.

God, Kurt’s ass was _perfect_.

“Tina and Brittany and Unique. I think they were actually pretty pissed off,” Blaine said and the pleasure, the excitement, in his own voice surprised him. He knew they wouldn’t stay mad for long, at least not with him. He deserved the title, deserved the win.

He popped the button on his pants.

He tried to not think about last year, but it kept sneaking up to edge of his mind, forcing him to notice. The feeling he had now was some kind of strange echo of last fall. Of the day he transferred to McKinley and those moments in that hallway, in the courtyard, where he had been seduced into believing, into seeing the possibilities of the year spread before him. Tried not to think about the long, difficult months that followed, of the many nights where he was shocked awake, shaking and in a cold sweat. What have I done? _What have I done_? 

Nights that caused him to go fumbling for his phone on his nightstand, pulling up Kurt’s picture so he could feel safe again, so he could breathe again. Of course, of course. He had made the right choice, the only choice.

This year would be different.

His cock was hard, so very hard, and he reached down and stroked it through the fabric of his briefs.

Kurt turned around. He raised an eyebrow, but Blaine saw the way his mouth fell open a little, letting out one sharp exhale as he took in Blaine’s bare chest, the hand in his pants still rubbing, rubbing.

Blaine couldn’t help his grin. “I want you to fuck me.”

***

After Kurt had his realization, he tried to force himself to think about it.

It made no sense. It wasn’t as if Kurt had not seen Blaine in the choir room several times in the past week when Kurt was there helping out, of course he had. He even talked to him, sat next to him at the auditions, asked his opinion about things.

He made his mind form the image of Blaine there. Blaine standing in front, singing a solo. Beautiful, perfect, charismatic as always. Blaine would drink deep of the attention, let it fill him, and then shine out of every note, every little gesture.

Blaine was nearly painful in his beauty to Kurt when he sang, making Kurt’s chest pull tight and his breathing still, after all this time, a little bit difficult.

He tried to picture Blaine sitting in those chairs as one of the others sung, his face open and supportive, full of pride for these people who at some point had become his friends, too. He would bounce and clap along, and love every minute of it.

Kurt could _almost_ see it.

He was trying. Finally, he took to thinking about Blaine in the hallway at McKinley, in his bowties and Brooks Brothers sweater vests, his leather satchel slung across his chest. Avoiding thoughts of glee club completely.

Every time though, just as that Blaine-shaped hole was starting to fill in, and yes, that was his boyfriend there in that room, singing those songs, in those halls, Kurt’s mind would shy away suddenly. He was left out of sorts, trying to chase it and not understanding why it kept running.

He could not figure out if he couldn’t see Blaine there because Blaine didn’t belong there, wasn’t supposed to be there.

Or because he was. Because Blaine looked perfect there.

***

Kurt always left the room when Rachel called. Blaine hadn’t noticed at first, and then he thought it was so Kurt could have his best-friend squealing moments alone, so he could coo at her and tell her how great he thought she was without Blaine there making faces or trying to stick his hand down Kurt’s pants.

He had been wrong.

The call came while they were wrapped up together on Blaine’s bed, his parents out at a charity event for the evening. Kurt had come straight from his shift at the Lima Bean, and still smelled like coffee when Blaine pressed his face into Kurt’s chest.

There was a small tan stain just above Kurt’s heart, a dime-size relic of someone’s latte or mocha, marring the white of Kurt’s shirt. Blaine pressed his fingers against it. Pushing, pushing. To see it made his gut twist, this thing marking his boyfriend, marking Kurt for everyone to see. Blaine’s jaw felt tight, and he clenched his teeth hard against the feeling.

He wondered if Kurt knew it was there.

Kurt rolled away from him as he answered, shooting him a quick look of apology before slipping out of Blaine’s bedroom.

The door didn’t close all the way behind him.

Blaine couldn’t hear exactly what Kurt was saying. He had obviously moved down to the far end of the hall, but Blaine could make out the happy lilt of Kurt’s voice, the wry tone as he teased her. Blaine smiled as he heard Kurt laugh loudly.

He would love Rachel forever if she could always make Kurt sound like that.

He heard them say goodbye, Kurt making some kind of humming noise at whatever Rachel was saying at the other end of the line. It was silent in the hallway again.

Blaine waited for Kurt to come back. He didn’t.

He sat up on the bed, debating on whether to peek his head out the door to see if Kurt was there. Maybe he was standing right outside, checking his voice mail or sending a text message or something. Maybe he had gone downstairs to get something to drink.

Blaine waited. Five minutes. Ten minutes.

And then Kurt was coming through the door, a smile on his face.

“I love Rachel to death, but me being at work for eight hours means she saves up every single detail of her day to tell me all at once,” Kurt said, and he sounded exasperated. He sounded fond.

He was lying.

“I spared her my stories. I doubt Rachel would’ve been interested in the mother that let her child pour honey on one of the tables, and then dump cinnamon over the whole thing,” Kurt continued, “but I suppose there’s something to be said about the creativity of children.”

Blaine stared at him. He knew when Kurt was lying, when he was faking.

There was a brief stand-off, as they stood there staring at each other. Blaine knew and Kurt knew that Blaine knew, and for one hot, quiet moment, Blaine despaired of who was going to break first.

He took a deep breath, watched as Kurt’s chest rose and collapsed in rhythm with his. Blaine swallowed and lifted his arm, held out his hand. And Kurt took the three steps to the bed, and fell into his arms.

There had been many nights early in the summer when Kurt’s tears had soaked Blaine’s shirt, soaked his pillowcases. Blaine thought Kurt might cry now, but he didn’t. Neither of them spoke. Kurt just let Blaine hold him and stayed very, very still.

He ran his hands down Kurt’s arms, his back, his neck. Feeling his bone and muscle. Letting his lips follow, kisses on Kurt’s skin, against his clothing.

Memorizing.

He had spent so much time pretending something wasn’t coming, until it was. Until it was right there.

Kurt drifted off to sleep just like that, silent and still clothed and smelling like coffee. Blaine pressed his fingers to the tan stain again.

Pushing, pushing.

And then he reached for his cellphone, and sent a text to Brittany.

***

Kurt put his mouth to Blaine’s, taking his sweet, hot breath into his body, letting it mix with his own inside his lungs until he didn’t know if it was own breath or Blaine’s that was giving him life.

Mouth-to-mouth.

Kurt didn’t know how he was going to live without him.

He hadn’t realized he already had been.

Blaine gasped and groaned, a small desperate sound, as Kurt pinned him hard to the bed, Blaine’s wrists tight in his grip. He kissed down Blaine’s chest, the sweat of him, the salt slick of it, making his lips slide and drag. He moaned into Blaine’s skin.

“Oh god, Blaine,” Kurt whispered. “ _Blaine_.” 

Over and over again.

He hadn’t known. _He hadn’t known_.

Not until he saw Blaine singing in that courtyard today.

Kurt fumbled at the fly of Blaine’s jeans, letting his nails scratch against the texture of the denim. He shivered, long and hard, his body wracked with it. He pulled Blaine’s pants and briefs down his hips, down his legs, until he was naked, perfect and gorgeous.

Blaine looked at him, and there were tears in his eyes, and he was shaking. “Kurt, fuck…Kurt.”

Kurt slipped out of his own clothes and stretched over Blaine’s body, covering, easing the shaking and he kissed him and kissed him.

Kurt wanted to cry. He wanted to crawl inside.

Instead, he rolled them so Blaine was on top and then all he could feel was Blaine, all he could smell was Blaine, and Blaine’s hands were on Kurt’s face, in his hair. Kurt ran his own hands across Blaine’s shoulders, along his sides, down his back, letting them settle in the dip, the arch right above the swell of his ass.

Oh god, oh god, that was one of his favorite parts of Blaine. He was going to miss that spot, miss the way his hands felt against the sweat-slippery skin.

Blaine thrust down hard, their cocks brushing together, and they both cried out.

“More, Blaine, please.” Kurt wasn’t sure he was even really talking. All he did was feel, feel, feel.

Each moment strung out, falling into the next and Kurt tried to grasp them, tried hold them and save each one. He didn’t know when he would have this again.

He hadn’t _known_.

Blaine moved his hips slow, dragging it out, but not stopping, never stopping. He moaned, loud, and pressed his face against Kurt’s. Kurt could feel the tears on Blaine’s face, and he followed the trails of them with his mouth, taking the tears into his body, to mix with his saliva, with his blood.

“Kurt, you’re the love of my life. I’m going to love you forever,” Blaine said with a gasp, “Okay? Please, _please_ …okay?”

Kurt moved his hands down to Blaine’s ass, urging him on. Blaine made a low noise, painful and searing, and moved faster. Kurt met Blaine’s mouth with his own, giving his reply into Blaine’s mouth, both with words and with teeth and tongue and breath.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Kurt passed the promise to Blaine, and he saw Blaine take it gratefully, his eyes slipping closed.

Blaine’s thrusts grew more frantic, and then suddenly he was crying out and coming and coming all over Kurt.

Kurt couldn’t take his eyes off him. He never could. Blaine was beautiful.

Blaine reached between them and wrapped his hand around Kurt’s cock, Blaine’s grip hot and tight and wet, stroking him until Kurt was coming too, chest heaving, clinging to Blaine’s back.

They stayed that way for a long time, not moving, just whispering things to each other. Until their sweat cooled and the come dried and they were breathing in time. Until their eyes were heavy. And then they cleaned up, crawled into bed together, pulled each other close.

They shouldn’t fall asleep, they couldn’t. Blaine had school in the morning. But still Kurt let him, watched as Blaine’s face relaxed, his soft mouth falling open. 

Kurt didn’t know if he was afraid. But he knew he should be.


End file.
